Worldhopping 101: Eragon
by night animal
Summary: Durza certainly never asked for a mud bath.  But wherever Leah the World-hopper goes, chaos follows. And sometimes people get in the way...


A/N: A big thanks to Paul Midnight for encouragement, beta-reading and suggestions!:) And readers, please leave a review and tell me what you think!:D

World-hopping 101: Eragon

Lesson 1: Mud, or Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?

_Wham! _Or perhaps I should say_ SPLAT! _I suddenly found myself in the middle of something wet and squishy. Bewildered, I looked around, noticing that I had landed in a large, muddy puddle about ten feet wide and several inches deep. It had a rather… interesting smell. The kind that makes your insides want to trade places with each other. _Blech! _I also realized that I wasn't as covered in mud as I ought to have been, and there was a very good explanation for that: I was lying on top of someone. Someone who _did not_, in fact, enjoy the situation at all. I supposed very few people would. Well, maybe if they were into mud wrestling. Or if they happened to be of the hog persuasion. Or, quite possibly, if they were related to hippos in some way. But how would it be possible for a person to be related to a hippo? _Perhaps through mutation…_ As I mused on this, trying to weigh the pros and cons of my newly found theory, that someone made a strangled, and very angry, sound – I thought it sounded like "Blahablurrgh" at the time – and I was thrown away with such force I landed what must have been at least twenty feet away.

As I caught my breath, massaging my aching behind, a shape slowly rose from the puddle with a slurping sound. Eyes wide open and mouth ajar, I stared at the…thing, the gooey pillar of muck in front of me. The puddle had obviously been a lot deeper than I'd thought. This individual was not just covered in mud. He seemed a part of it. It was impossible to tell where the mud ended and the person began. As I contemplated this, wondering if it were actually possible for muck to come alive and start walking about, the mud on top of the creature seemed to somehow melt and ooze off, causing a horrible, slobbery sound. Two burning, red eyes became visible and glared at me, furiously. Oops. I only knew one character who had red eyes, and he was not a very… friendly individual. "Sorry," I said, wondering how I was to get out of this alive. "Didn't see you there." And then, for my brains work in mysterious ways and he looked like he needed a bit of comforting, I added : "Er… Shall I compare thee to a Summer's Day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate…"

Now, if you are determined to really anger a Shade, it is wise to take certain precautions. It is a good idea to make certain you know your surroundings well, in order to facilitate an escape. If possible, there should also be an ally present – somebody whom the Shade does not wish to antagonize for some reason or another. I had neither of those things. What I did have was a sore bum and a strong wish to be somewhere else. Why on Earth I resorted to Shakespeare at a time such as this, I have no idea. Shades are sinister, evil beings. Anything less like a "summer's day" than this dark, muddy and seriously pissed off creature I had never encountered, nor am I ever likely to. For a moment we just stared at each other, the human girl and the Mud Creature from the Abyss. A slab of muck trickled down the Shade's front and landed on the ground with a subtle _glop._

It is more than plausible that the next thing occurring would have been my extremely painful demise, had it not been for a strike of pure luck. Just as the Shade growled menacingly, raising his hand as if to magic yours truly into oblivion, there was a loud, screeching sound. It made me think of the sound that your nails make when you scratch them down one of those old black boards that used to be so common at school. Only much louder. These nails did not just want to cause the black board pain. They were hell-bent on torturing it out of its wits. The Shade flinched and quickly looked up. Something large, winged and scaly came screaming from the sky like a comet, wobbling clumsily straight towards him. The creature was waving its claws and flapping its wings wildly, as though it were trying to stop itself from smacking into him. That did not help one bit. With a loud _thud! _and an angry gurgle, Shade and beast seemed to merge into one, very dirty being, arms, legs and wings waving in all directions.

At first I just stood there, gazing at something that to me looked remarkably like a mutated, muddy squid with wings. It slowly occurred to me that perhaps this would be a good opportunity to leave, as the two were quite busy disentangling themselves. The winged creature was roaring and the Shade gargling and cursing loudly, but they did not seem to really give a damn about yours truly for the moment. So, I ran for it. _Backtomyworld, backtomyworld…_ I babbled frantically to myself, trying to remember how to go home. My brains simply did not seem to want to cooperate today. _How was it again? Grab the travel stone in my pocket, feel it, close my eyes, focus on my room, my world, make the jump… _I opened my eyes. _Oh, darn! _This was my world, all right. It was, however, definitely not my room. I was standing in the local zoo, right by the monkey cage. I knew that it was my world because I had visited this zoo the weekend before. One of the animals actually reminded me of the Shade. It was an unusually aggressive orangutan, all its red hairs standing on end. Now it was glaring at me, rolling its eyes in a seriously insane manner. Yes, it did indeed look a lot like Durza. I waved at it, glad I had not actually landed inside the cage. One has to be grateful for the little things, correct?

I suppose this would be a good time to introduce myself. My name is Leah. I am 24 years old, my blood type is A, my hair is dirty blonde and reaches my waist if I remember to comb it. I mostly don't. There are simply more important things in life. So, half of the time I just put it in a rough kind of pony tail, so as to keep it out of the way. My eyes are violet, if you are to trust my parents. Apparently, I have my great grandmother's eyes. I suppose it is a good thing that she is no longer using them, hah hah. Kidding aside, that is not the only trait I inherited from her. You see, I am a World-hopper. You probably wonder what a World-hopper is. Not many people know. This will take a little while to explain, but try to be patient and I'll do my best to get on with the story as soon as possible. So, World-hopping it is. This is where dreams come in. You see, there is one thing that is typical for World-hoppers – their dreams are unusually lucid. Not all of them, of course, but unusually many. And they often seem to take place in a world that exists in a work of fiction that the dreamer is familiar with. It can be a book, a TV series, a film, a poem… almost anything. I once heard of a World-hopper who ended up in the world of a corn flakes commercial. Poor bastard.

Anyway, for me it began when I was just a child. I always had very vivid dreams at night. Sometimes when I woke up I would find myself holding something that I had picked up in the dream. A beautiful bird feather, a tree leaf, a wooden doll… and one morning, when I had just turned thirteen, I woke up with a small piece of crystal in my hand. It shone violet, and it was the most beautiful stone I had ever seen. I did not know it at the time, but that was a travel stone. My mother claims that stone is the reason for my odd eye colour. Whether that's true or not I don't know. Apparently, not all travel stones are violet. Some are green, blue or red. Hm… Does that mean that some of us have red eyes, then, just like that Shade? That is certainly an interesting idea. I shall have to explore it some time. Perhaps if I am lucky enough to meet a fellow World-hopper. There aren't that many of us left. A great deal of our ancestors were burned during the witch trials, especially in Salem. Boy, am I glad I wasn't born during that time period! Considering how people generally consider me strange now, what would they have thought of me back then?

My parents did their best to make certain that I learned how to be safe while "hopping", as we call it. It must have been hard on them at times, for I could be very stubborn. If I wanted to visit a particular world and they told me it was unsafe and out of the question ("NO, Leah, you are NOT going to hop into _Matrix_, I don't care how much you whine!") I'd sulk for days. At first, the only worlds they would let me visit were those of little children's books. (Well, not fairy tales. Imagine the world of Hansel and Gretel. Seriously, who would want their children to go to a place where they'd be likely to bump into a crazy witch, with a taste for human flesh?) So, I spent my first world-hopping adventures talking to bunnies who insisted on shoving meat balls into their ears, or playing with shy moles and friendly water rats. I also spent a lot of time in the kind of social-realistic book worlds that were so usual in the seventies, as my dad had a large collection of them stacked away from his childhood. You know, the kind of literature where the daddies vacuum cleaned and the mummies had careers, and everything was _so_ equal. They usually had titles such as "Gramps is dead". I rather liked those book worlds, but I couldn't help missing my own grandfather a bit…

So, how does one go about world-hopping? It's a bit tricky when you first start learning, but after a while it becomes easier. This is how I do it: first, I sit down in a comfortable chair, with my travel stone in my right hand. It is important that it is the correct hand, for some reason. I don't know why. Anyhow, I close my eyes and think of the world I want to visit. Next, I need to know _when_ I want to arrive in the story. And, of course, the place I want to visit. I have to focus very hard, something that takes time, and see the place in front of me clearly. This is why imagination is so important. Also, if I want to visit a particular character I have to think of that person, really picturing him or her in my mind. The tricky thing is, that if I suddenly start thinking of hippos or mashed potatoes in the middle of "hopping", there is no way of telling where I might end up! So, discipline is very important. Now, I have been "hopping" for years, but I still make that kind of mistakes sometimes. And that is how we get to my unfortunate meeting with Durza the Shade. You did not think that the mud episode was the last time I bumped into him, did you?

After my unpleasant encounter with the Mud Monster of Doom, I did not travel to any worlds for several weeks. I was terrified I might, inadvertently, end up on top of Durza again. World-hopping is a bit like that old story about the man who was ordered not to think of a pink elephant. We all know how hard it is to _not _think of something or someone when you are not supposed to. I was terrified of having another encounter with that psychotic sorcerer, and thus I couldn't stop thinking about it. You see, the reason I ended up covering our wizard friend in muck in the first place is that I got sidetracked. My absolute favourite character of the Inheritance World is Saphira, that awe-inspiring she-dragon. I wanted to befriend her, so I planned on visiting her just a little while after she hatched. But, alas, things did not turn out as I planned. For while I was focusing my attention on her, picturing the baby dragon in my head, my mind wandered. _I wonder how much the Shade knows at this time in the story_, I mused. And that's how come Durza had a little mud bath. I hope it did wonders for his skin.

However, I finally made up my mind and decided to try to visit Alagaesia again. What can I say? Paolini has created a very nice playground for us World-hoppers, and I still wanted very much to see Saphira. The dragon I'd seen during my unfortunate meeting with the Shade – for it must have been a dragon, I reasoned - had not appeared to be Saphira, whom I deemed to be far too graceful for such a clumsy display. How come a strange dragon had actually been flying about in that world, when dragons were supposed to be extremely unusual, I had no idea. It really puzzled me. Perhaps I could find that clumsy dragon again, if I was lucky? _We'd match each other perfectly. Like rider, like dragon, right?_ I muttered sarcastically to myself. Yes, I would like to see that dragon again, too. However, I thought I might try something else first. Gil'ead seemed like an interesting place, I thought. Which just goes to prove that sometimes my brains simply do not work the way they should.

Lesson 2: "Not you again!"

When I arrived, it was a beautiful morning. Crisp and cool, with a hint of autumn leaves in the air. Smiling, I walked out from the alley I had appeared in. (I've made a habit out of appearing in alleyways, as they are easy enough to hide in. Hopefully, that way nobody will see my arrival and accuse me of… well, something or other. Witchcraft maybe?) That was when an extremely unpleasant smell hit me square in the nostrils, almost making me reel over. _What is it with Paolini's World and gross and disgusting smells? _I growled inwardly. I looked about, trying to figure out from whence the odour came. About fifteen feet away, a couple of hooded beings were standing. The wind must have blown in my direction, for within seconds there was no doubt in my mind that those two were the source of the smell. _Yuck!_ Were they Ra'zac, perhaps? Did Ra'zac stink? I suddenly found myself uncertain, as I tried to remember. But if they were not Ra'zac then what exactly were they, except for disgusting? _In any case, I'd better get out of their line of vision._ As quietly as I could manage, I sneaked around a corner and started walking. Within a few minutes I found myself in front of a tavern. It looked clean enough, and I found that I was thirsty. _I wonder if they have beer…_ I said to myself, and started feeling my pockets for coins.

Now, a World-hopper materializes in another world wearing the clothes and other accessories she imagines herself having. This is one of the reasons you have to think carefully before you "make the jump", if you get my drift. It will not do to come into the world of Jane Austen's _Pride and Prejudice_, for instance, wearing a pink miniskirt. Or rather, you can always try. But I don't recommend it. Not at all. Seriously. When I left my home that day, I had carefully planned my outfit for this excursion. Consequently, I was wearing a simple, green dress that reached all the way down to my feet. My boots were also simple, and made of brown leather. I had tied my hair back in a pony tail, and I wore a dark brown cloak with a hood. For some reason, lady clothes don't often seem to include pockets in fantasy worlds. This has always irked me, so I had imagined a few of those rather cleverly hidden in the folds of my dress. In one of them I had imagined a dagger. In another one I had pictured some coins. And in a small leather pouch around my neck I carried my precious travel stone.

The tavern's name was The Cackling Hen, something that I found rather amusing. _Who named this place? And what's with taverns and silly, animal related names? _I grinned to myself as I walked through the door and stared into the murky darkness. It was not that dark, of course. My eyes were simply unaccustomed to it, coming in from the bright sunlight. Once I had stood in the doorway for a little while, blinking and frowning, I could quite easily see the worn wooden tables and chairs that made up the décor of the place. It was a bit dull, but seemed ok. No scary, smelly, hooded things. No shades as far as I could see. In the far left corner a small, blond, bearded man was having a drink. He seemed to be enjoying himself very much indeed_. _As I watched, he gave voice to the loudest burp I have ever heard. It was the Burp of All Burps, the kind of belch that would have made those Norse Viking gods proud. Too bad it wasn't one of them standing there in my place. Disgusted, I turned my attention in the opposite direction, and focused on the innkeeper instead. He was a tall, rather thin man with long, dark hair and a small goatee. I have always had a weak spot for men with goatees, don't ask me why. This individual looked very appealing indeed. He seemed lean but well trained, and that long hair...

With my attention firmly focused on this Cute Individual of the Male Persuasion, I took a deep breath and stepped inside. My left foot immediately caught on something and I hurtled, flied face first like a canon ball… In a desperate attempt to keep my balance, and possibly a shred of my dignity, I immediately shot my hands out in front of me in order to catch myself, yelping like a stray puppy. _Thud!_ My shoulder hit a table. Hard. _Cloink! _A pitcher of something wet toppled over and spilled its contents over my person, oozing into the folds of my dress. _Well, isn't this nice._ Mortified, I sat up, rubbing my aching shoulder. I barely had time to think _What a mess!_ before a bowl of something sticky fell into my lap. It smelled of oatmeal, a kind of food that I have always avoided to the very best of my ability. (I had an unfortunate…er, incident involving oatmeal and my beloved teddy bear Goggles when I was only three years old, and it has left certain marks.) For a moment, everything was dead quiet. Nothing moved. And then, suddenly, a roar of laughter pierced the silence, making me flinch.

Now, if I had been wise I would have taken this whole incident as a hint that this day was indeed going to be troublesome, and maybe returned home. Instead of remaining in the Paolini World, I could be sitting on my favourite couch, watching _Sesame Street_ and munching cookies. (I have always felt that the Cookie Monster and I are kindred spirits.) Or I could be working on that essay that I was trying so desperately to forget all about. But who wants to be investigating the finer aspects of a banana's psyche (or lack there-of), when one can be visiting a world of elves, dragons and magic? So, here I was, making a complete fool of myself and trying my best _not_ to appear as though I found this embarrassing. _Right… good luck with that._ My face crimson with humiliation, I slowly rose from the floor, vividly trying to brush off my dress, when my right foot suddenly decided to go its own way. It had found a pool of that liquid that had drenched my dress, and thought it would be nice to investigate it further. _Smack!_ There I was again, sitting on the floor. And, what do you know, suddenly my shoulder was not the only part of my body that ached. _Perhaps bananas aren't so boring after all…_

As mortifying as this whole situation was to me, I must admit that being clumsy has its perks. Normally, people hardly notice me. Or rather, the wrong ones do. That creepy guy next door, the one who peeks on people through the window with a huge spying glass, and who collects insects just so that he can kill them and nail them onto something, he tried to "nail" me as well. A quite disgusting experience that I am not going to delve into any further. And when I traveled to the world of _Star Trek_, a ferengi (one of those small, big-eared, money-obsessed guys) tried to get cozy with me. This really irked me for it made that hot Klingon woman, who I had been secretly eyeing for quite a while, turn away in disgust. You get the drift, don't you? It's always the wrong people! However, it is hard not to notice somebody who has just managed to cover herself in oatmeal and mead in such an… _extravagant_ manner as I just had. Mr. Goatee certainly noticed yours truly. Once he had finally stopped laughing (that took a while, because each time he had managed to calm down, he took one look at me and burst out laughing again), he poured me a large pint of something nice and cold and said "This is on the house, little girl. Try not to spill it all over yourself!". Clearly, my making a total mess of his tavern did not bother him much.

A few minutes later I was busy chugging down the best mead I have ever had. I swear, it tasted wonderful! It didn't seem that strong, either. I took a few swigs, and started to enjoy myself. The atmosphere of the place suddenly seemed a lot friendlier, and I smiled goofily at everyone and everything in general. A couple of merchants had just entered the tavern, and I smiled at them too. They did not notice me, but that hardly mattered. I felt an overwhelming love for this place and the people in it. One pitcher quickly became two, and then three. These I paid for myself, with the coins I had brought to this world. The Cute Innkeeper seemed a little concerned when I ordered pitcher number four, however. "Are you sure about this, little girl?" he asked, eyeing me warily. I was.

"Are you insinu…insu… insinuti… saying that I do-hon't know what I'm doing?" I accused, glaring at his goatee. The man sighed, then gave me the refill I had asked for. Something about his behavior told me that he was not happy about the situation, and I could not imagine why. I was happy. Everyone should be happy! Life was awesome!

Normally, I don't drink much. Two or three beers, perhaps once a month, and that's it. I know how much I can drink, and how I react to it. This mead couldn't be that strong, I reasoned. It did not taste of alcohol. After my fourth drink, however, I began realizing that the tavern owner had probably had a good reason for worrying. By then, my stomach was insisting rather fiercely that "enough is enough". To put it simply, I was feeling like a disease ridden skunk. Getting out suddenly seemed like a very good idea. I began wobbling towards the door. Or doors. There seemed to be far too many of them at the moment. Grimacing, I tried to open one of them and managed to shove my hand into the door pane. Ouch. "Stuhupid do-doors…" I hiccupped groggily, trying to push the door open. I admit I used a little more force than necessary, but my tummy was really beginning to feel unstable. After grabbing for the handle – and narrowly missing – a couple of times, I finally managed to grasp and turn it. Dramatically, I slammed it open. It halted midway with a hard jolt. I must have done something wrong, I decided. Or maybe this blasted opening mechanism had jammed on its hinges. Frustrated, I attempted to slam the door open again – with the same result. Clearly, something was in the way.

By now things were getting critical stomach-wise. If I did not get out quickly, there was definitely a risk that the Innkeeper would have to clean up after me for the second time today… Panicking, I pushed at the door to get it open again and again, increasing the force with each blow. If there was an object blocking my way, it would simply have to budge! It did not occur to me that the object in question might be a person. A muffled grunt and a clawing hand, finally seizing the door and ripping the offending portal-thing aside, finally clued me in… and I found myself staring up at a pale face surrounded by long, crimson hair, a couple of crimson eyes, and a crimson nose. The owner of said crimson countenance was holding his hand over his bleeding nose, glowering at me furiously. I knew this guy, oh yes. Damn. What did he have to be here for? "Aaaw, come on!" I slurred, annoyed. "Not you again!" Having expressed my emotions in that heartfelt manner, I promptly threw up on his boots.


End file.
